Find It Kind Of Funny
by Raven Blossom
Summary: Harry is lost and confused. He needs to find some sort of reality to hold on to. Anything. In a nightclub he finds something he wasn't necesarily looking for. slashy, sort of... emotional. sigh not a songfic!


before you read this, you may wanna listen to the song "Mad World" by Gary Jules. that was the inspiration for this fic, and well, that song is in this fic... it's got the same structure as Bring On The Men, they have a lot in common, but the feeling of the story is very very different. and obviously so are the characters..if you don't like this pairing, well. it fit for me. and the few of this pairing that i've read, it's been fabulous.

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**Find It Kinda Funny**  
  
Harry pushed open the doors and walked into the darkened room. He'd had enough that day. Seemed that everyone was pairing up and leaving him out. Ron and Hermione had just informed him that they'd had a relationship for over a year. Only now had they decided to tell him. They were afraid he'd freak out. The only things that bothered him was how he hadn't noticed, and why they'd waited so long to tell him. Ginny and Seamus were engaged. Even the twins were married off. Everyone had a real life now except him. Now that the war was over, now that he'd served his purpose, he had no idea what to do with himself.  
  
The air was smoky. The atmosphere was subdued. This nightclub wasn't your average nightclub where everyone rubbed up against eachother to bad, upbeat music to forget about their horrible lives, or in attempts to 'have fun.' Here, people sat around small tables and drank to forget about their horrible lives. And they listened to good music. The room was almost entirely black except for the small stage. Upon it was a grand piano that stood in the lonely spotlight.  
  
Harry took a seat at a table that was towards the back. Someone offered him a drink, but he didn't want anything. He wasn't stupid enough to try and drown his sorrows in liquor. He'd come here in hopes of feeling something. Anything. He needed some sort of reality to grasp.  
  
A man climbed up onto the stage. He was slightly clumsy in his manner as he made his way over to the piano. He plopped down in front of it and sighed visibly. Something twinged in the back of Harry's mind. He knew this man. Who was he though...?  
  
The man brushed a couple stray brown locks away from his eyes. His eyes were brown too, Harry noticed. He placed his large hands onto the keyboard and began to plunk out a tune. At first it was rough, and Harry wondered if he was going to be able to listen to it. But then the song took form, and it flowed. The notes trickled like raindrops. It was melancholic and slightly hypnotizing. The keys only played sadness. Then the man lifted his head up, his hair still in his face, and began to sing in a mellow but pleasant voice.  
  
"All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces," he resounded. His voice was slightly grieved and his eyes were downcast, the hair partly hiding them. Harry immediately felt something pull at a heartstring deep down inside. "Bright and early for the daily races, going no where, going no where. Their tears are filling up their glasses, no expression, no expression." Each repeated line was held somewhat longer than the first, his voice lingering and somber. "Hide my head I wanna drown in sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow," he continued.  
  
He looked up, his hair moving away from his face. For a moment, Harry could have sworn that he was staring right at him. But he waved that possibility away. He was in the back, and it was dark. The man couldn't possibly see him. Still, Harry was absolutely captivated.  
  
"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had." That line hit home and Harry winced slightly. "I find it hard to tell you. I find it hard to take. When people run it circles it's a very very...mad world....mad world..." The man sighed heavily again. His fingers continued their seemingly endless loop of notes. The same order of notes, over and over again. And then they would cascade lightly, playing something a little different. The chorus, Harry supposed. At those moments it seemed the man would smile momentarily.  
  
But then, Harry wasn't wearing his glasses. He'd had his vision corrected during the war. It'd been quite inconvenient to maintain glasses on his face. If they had broken during battle, then he'd have been screwed. Sometimes he missed the frames on his face. Even with corrected vision, he swore that he imagined the ghost of a smile upon the man's face. The song was so sad, he couldn't imagine anyone smiling.  
  
"Children waiting for the day they feel good. Happy birthday, happy birthday." Another light appeared off the to side, illuminating a lone cello player. It was a small female with long dark hair that covered her downcast face entirely. Her cello empathized with the piano, matching its notes and sadness. "And I feel the way that every child should, sit and listen, sit and listen. Went to school and I was very nervous, no one knew me, no one knew me." A memory of the Hogwart's Express flashed before Harry's eyes. Something about a toad. His mind was confused once more, but he let it stay that way. As long as this guy didn't stop playing and singing.  
  
"Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson, look right through me, look right through me." The man's eyelids fluttered closed. His expression was softly pained. "And I find it kind of funny. I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had." There it was again! The ghost of a smile. This time Harry was sure he hadn't imagined it.  
  
"I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles it's a very very....mad world....mad world...enlarging your world....mad world..." and then were was silence. There hadn't been many people in the club, but the few that were there applauded politely.  
  
Harry felt so off-kilter. That song had put him completely out of sync. He had to know who the man was, but when he looked back on stage, it was empty. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure stop at the doorway nearby him. The figure beckoned him outside, and then went out the door.  
  
Harry jumped up and followed, forgetting his jacket on his chair. It was snowing very lightly. The man was standing under the eave, next to the building. He had on a black winter coat with a collar up to his chin. Up close he looked to be the same age as Harry. He smiled timidly. Harry approached him.  
  
"Hello, Harry," he said softly. Harry stared at him, trying desperately to remember who he was. The fact that the man knew his name didn't surprise him. Everyone knew his name. But something told Harry that this man knew him more than most people. Then it dawned upon him.  
  
"Neville," he replied in greeting. Neville smiled again. "Wow. I never knew you could play the--"

"Piano? Or sing, eh? No. Most people don't know. No one knows who I am in there. That's why I play there. Not that I have much to escape from, not as much as you," he said.  
  
They stood in silence for a moment. Harry shivered, scolding himself for forgetting his jacket. He'd bare the cold though.  
  
"Did you wri--" he began.  
  
"Write that?" Neville finished for him again. "No. No, that's not my song. I wish it was though. It's so perfect and p--"  
  
"Poignant," Harry completed the thought. They exchanged shy smiles. Harry's heart pulled at him with a question. At first he didn't want to voice it. Felt it might be rude. But it seemed so right at the time.  
  
"What makes you so sad, Neville?" he asked cautiously. Neville lifted his eyes from the snow and glanced straight into Harry's eyes (soul). Once again the other man smiled; this time more knowingly.  
  
"I would have thought that was obvious," he replied in an almost-whisper.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention to you in school," Harry apologized suddenly. It all came back to him, how he'd treated Neville. He'd never been mean to him, not like Malfoy or Snape. But he'd never been there for him. And Neville was a good person who deserved things like that. He wished somehow he could make it up to him.  
  
"It's okay. I never expected you to. It was merely a privilege being in your presence, growing up with you. Even if we were never close." He paused a moment. "But, if you like we could still be friends. The future is certain now, unlike before. We have the rest of our lives to get to know eachother."  
  
"I'd like that very much, Neville," he said. His lost mood was picking up.  
  
"I've got to get back in there," Neville said, nodding towards the nightclub. He glanced down at his feet, then looked up and stared in Harry's eyes, searching for something. He leaned close and pressed his lips ever so slightly against Harry's. Both of their eyes closed tightly. Harry leaned closer, increasing the pressure, but nothing else. They stood like that for what seemed like a long time, even though it wasn't. Just feeling and breathing together. The snow falling was the only sound either heard.  
  
And then Neville pulled away. Once more he smiled shyly, then went back inside.  
  
Harry blinked a few times in slight disbelief. But then his lips turned upward, and things didn't seem so bad.  
  
He completely forgot about his coat back in the club. Nothing important was in it anyway.  
  
Carelessly he sauntered down the now empty road, humming the tune he had just heard. Only now, he understood how one could smile during that song. It was a _mad_ world.


End file.
